Something I have always been curious about and I always wished was at least mentioned (maybe we'll get lucky in Inquisition?) is about what exactly happened to Anora after your coup is successful and she's booted off the throne? Alistair either remains with the Wardens, is executed, or becomes a wandering drunk, so I've always wanted to see the other side of the coin.
Oh, and about the whole Iron Throne thing? When I was editing this I was reminded of Game of Thrones, particularly by the ending.
Eamon walked with a bit of uncharacteristic uncertainty as he made his way to Alistair's den in the Denerim palace, knowing that the proposition that he had for Ferelden's newest King was something that the former Templar probably didn't have the heart to order. It was a necessity for Alistair to hold onto his throne without question, or at least Eamon believed it to be due to his lifelong experience in the Grand Game that was the politics of Thedas. The young King was beloved by the common folk for his down to earth way of handling matters, but there were no small amount of nobles and wealthier businessmen that thought that perhaps Alistair wasn't exactly the one who was ruling the kingdom. Once upon a time there were whispers that Eamon was the one who led the new King with advice given from the shadows, but as Eamon knocked on the door of Alistair's den, he knew that Loghain had been right when the man had said that there was someone else who had been the puppeteer.
It was Alistair who had opened the door and given him the usual cheeky greeting, which Eamon happily returned of course, but it was then that the old Arl first noticed who exactly was sitting in a chair at a desk across the room, apparently having already been having a conversation with Alistair about something or other that Eamon didn't know about. It wasn't a welcomed sight because he doubted that this was the first time that Dravid Aeducan had met with Alistair in private since the young Theirin had become King, but Eamon kept his face straight and sent a nod of greeting over to the former Prince of Orzammar.
"I didn't know that you had company," Eamon stated bluntly as he closed the door of the den leading out into the hallway corridor behind him, making sure that Alistair and Dravid knew for certain that he was going to stick around.
Alistair only laughed, but it was Dravid who waved it off. "It's no worry. We were just talking about my new promotion."
Eamon raised an eyebrow, hands gripping onto the envelope that he had been holding onto quite carefully for the past hour or so, and then made his way over to the large desk where Dravid was seated. He took the seat next to the Warden Aeducan so that he could face Alistair just as Dravid had been doing. "Promotion?"
Dravid just shrugged, the letter he had received from Weisshaupt just a week earlier being something he had expected to come ever since he had slain Urthemiel. "The First Warden has just promoted me to be the Commander of the Grey here in Ferelden."
Eamon remained silent, unsure of how to process the news. On one hand this meant that the Hero of Ferelden now had more authority and legitimate power to his name other than being a Dwarven exile that stumbled into saving the world, but on the other hand it also meant that he would be busy commanding whatever was to come of the Grey Warden order; probably somewhere other than in Denerim.
"Did you need something, Eamon?" Alistair questioned as he made himself comfortable in the seat across from his two main advisers, curious as to what the old Arl wanted since he had just in fact noticed the envelope that the man had brought with him.
Eamon gave a quick shake of his head to take his thoughts away from any suspicions he had of the Warden, and after a deep breath placed the envelope on the desk that separated them. He had pondered all night about whether or not Alistair would give him permission for what was written on the parchment that the envelope protected, and although part of him thought that the only recently crowned King was not well versed enough in the ways of the Grand Game to know what needed to be done, Eamon felt that with a little prodding that Alistair would be able to see reason. "I think it's about time that we discuss the options we have concerning Anora." Eamon remembered to speak delicately, because they were talking about the former Queen of the nation after all.
Frowning, Alistair knew that it was only a matter of time before they had to make an official decision about Anora. The woman was still imprisoned in Fort Drakon, given special amenities because of the circumstances of course, but it had already been a number of months since the Battle of Denerim where the Archdemon had fallen, and the security that Anora had been kept around to foster wasn't exactly an issue anymore. The King tapped one of his armored fingers on the desk separating him from his two most loyal confidants as he stared at the envelope that Eamon presented him, and Alistair picked it up as he hoped that whatever was written inside was something that wouldn't be too drastic.
Alistair bit his lip before he spoke, recalling why exactly he had once been so adamant about refusing to take Maric's throne. "And what kind of options are we talking about here?"
Before Eamon could answer, Dravid brought an impatient fist down onto the desk, the Dwarf having long ago learned how reluctant Alistair could be whenever it came to doing what needed to be done. "There is only one option that we have here, your Majesty," Dravid made sure that the other two men present felt the sarcasm he let linger on the way he had addressed Ferelden's King, "We let the bitch hang."
It wasn't the way that Eamon would have presented the suggestion, but at least Dravid had been able to get to the chase of what he preferred Alistair would give the okay for. Eamon's eyes shifted from Dravid to Alistair and back again, seeing just how much on the same page that the Warden was with how he felt Anora should be dealt with. Alistair was still reluctant though, that much Eamon could gather from the pained face that the King was making; it was the same one he had seen Alistair give whenever a decision was made that he went along with even though it made him feel sick to his stomach. Eamon took no pleasure in coercing Alistair into doing something that the young Theirin didn't want to do, but he agreed with the Warden that there was only one real option that was open to them.
Eamon pressed on, deciding not to take the chance that Alistair would dismiss the topic then and there. "Believe me when I say that this isn't something that I'm taking lightly, my boy, and believe me when I say that I take no pleasure in this, but Anora's," he paused for a second as he thought of a way to put it more lightly, "permanent displacement is something that is necessary to maintain the stability of this nation."
Alistair frowned and set the envelope down on the desk before pushing it back towards Eamon. When Dravid had declared him King of Ferelden, against his wishes mind you, it had taken him a bit of time to accept that the crown was his, even though it was a thought that he doubted he would ever fully embrace. He was a warrior, a Grey Warden at heart, and as was shown with the way that he followed even Dravid's most vicious commands during the Blight, the road to the Archdemon paved in the bodies of both villains and innocents alike, the one thing that he wasn't was a leader. Being a leader meant that people depended on him, and as his eyes once again landed on the envelope that contained orders that were his to give that would end a woman's life, it was a reminder as to just why exactly he never wanted to sit on the throne in the first place.
Alistair breathed in a bit of the stale air that surrounded them, eyes shifting back and forth from his two advisers. "I'm not saying that I disagree that we need to handle this whole Anora thing, but do we really have to kill her? Can't she just swear fealty to me or something? Then we can have her join the Chantry just to make it official."
"I-"
Once again interrupting Eamon before the Arl could say anything, Dravid just snorted as his fingers lightly tapped onto the wooden desk. "You know, I don't have as much experience with Anora as any of you born Ferelden do, but trust me when I say that she's strong. I killed her father right in front of her, and after she took a moment to mourn Loghain then and there, she stood up and demanded that I make her Queen. That's ballsy, Alistair, and you want to know what my bet is if we go with that plan of yours to stick her in the Chantry? She'll be your next fucking Divine."
"I know that's what you think is going to happen-" Alistair started to disagree.
"You don't get it!" Dravid interjected, "All of Thedas is watching us right now, waiting for our country to slip up. You can bet your ass that Orlais is waiting to see what King Alistair, what the Grey Wardens, are going to do about the monarch they displaced to put one of our own as a world leader. She's the daughter of the man who hunted us down like animals and killed our brothers. Never forget that, Alistair."
Clearing his throat, Eamon reminded the other two men that he was still around. "Our country, Warden?" the Arl's eyebrow was raised slightly, not one hundred percent certain what to think of Dravid's choice of words.
"Yeah, OUR country," the Dwarf challenged Eamon, knowing exactly what the old man was getting at. "And I'm saying it for everyone to hear that if Anora lives any longer, that's sending a message to everyone in the entire world, from Orlais to the Qunari, or even our own people, that they can step on the toes of King Alistair and get away with it."
"It may be ugly, but that is the reality of the situation," Eamon decided to add his own addendum to Dravid's words, "and if Anora isn't handled in the right way," the Arl leaned forward and began to actually plead with his sort-of nephew, "then she stands as one of the biggest threats to the legitimacy of your reign. She was a beloved Queen here in Ferelden, and elsewhere in the world she is still greatly respected. I'm not saying that we brutalize her, or that we put her through any sort of pain, but her being alive puts everything we worked so hard to obtain in jeopardy."
And that was that. All the cards were set on the table for Alistair to see, and all of them pointed to the fact that dealing with Anora in the most permanent way possible was the right course of action. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding in, and Alistair began to go over the different possibilities in his head. Had she been the one crowned as Ferelden's ruler instead of him Alistair had little doubt that she would have ordered his execution then and there at the Landsmeet simply to ensure her throne once and for all, but even as he considered giving word for her death with more than an inkling of seriousness, he knew that he wouldn't be able to do it.
Anora, Dravid, and Eamon were all similar people in contrasting and equally strong ways, Anora and Eamon using their cunning in the court to influence the lives of an entire nation, and Dravid who transformed his Shield of Aeducan and his ever growing need for vengeance into weapons that would forever change the course of history, but Alistair was different. Just like when he had been raised by the Chantry to be a Templar, he had always been different. He didn't have that ruthless streak in him that Anora or his advisers had that they used to justify their every action or command, no matter how horrific, and at the end of the day he couldn't pretend to be someone who he wasn't. His crown meant that he was the King of Ferelden, and it was a crown that Alistair refused to let weigh him down with shame.
The young King stood up proudly, for once being grateful for the throne that so many people had to die for him to sit on. "I'm not ordering her death."
"But, Alistair-" Eamon began to beg before being cut off when Alistair raised his armored hand dismissing him.
Without another word, Dravid stood up just like Alistair had, and walked out of the den after glaring at the King for a second, apparently being done with Alistair for the evening after hearing an answer that he didn't necessarily welcome. Eamon turned to look at the door after the Warden slammed it shut, and finally sighed and grabbed the envelope that Alistair had given back to him before he finally followed the Dwarf's lead. He hadn't expected that convincing Alistair about Anora would have been in any ways easy, but he had hoped that the proposal would have been met with more openness.
Unlike Dravid however, Eamon shut the door behind him quietly on his way out, but once he stepped into the hallway corridor he could only furrow his brow in confusion when he saw that the Warden had been standing just outside the exit waiting for him. He quickly looked around to make sure that there weren't any errant Elven servants gadding about nearby before he addressed the Dwarf in front of him. "Is there something you need, Warden?"
The hard faced Dravid said nothing and only held his hand out expectantly towards him, and it was then that Eamon realized what the stout man wanted. They were enemies and allies all at the same time, and a similar stern look crept across Eamon's face as he handed the envelope once meant for Alistair over to the Hero of Ferelden.
Maker, forgive them.
Anora nodded in appreciation at the fine cut of meat that had been brought to her cell for her to enjoy with a glass of Tevinter wine and a plentiful side of homegrown Ferelden vegetables, but she couldn't help but sigh after taking the first bite when it reminded her of just where she was and everything that had led up to it. She was grateful that Alistair had not killed her outright after the coup that had been successfully manufactured by both Eamon and the Warden, and she was also pleasantly surprised by the fact that Alistair had her separated from the general population of the criminals housed at Fort Drakon and had given her access to special amenities such as her books and the weekly bubble bath she requested, but she deserved more than being forced to spend her life in a cell. She had ruled the country when Cailan's foolhardiness and boyhood fantasies could not, she had given everything to make sure that her people lived happy and free lives, she had been their proud Queen who did everything she could to raise the international opinion of the Fereldens being 'dog-lords' to something more regardful, but in the end she had been ousted by an exiled Dwarf who illegally executed her father to place his bastard friend on the throne instead of her.
Despite the thought, Anora didn't actually hold any ill will towards Alistair. He seemed amenable enough when it came right down to it, but even when they had been allies marching on towards the Landsmeet, she had known that he was going to be a threat. Not so much for his own personality, but for the fact that whenever it came to any sort of decision, that it wasn't Alistair who made the final one. Had it been like the story books that she and Cailan enthralled one another with when they were children that would spark their fanciful battles with imaginary ogres to create a not so imaginary mess, Alistair would have been the charming Prince who ended up being the hero of this particular tale instead of the exiled Dwarf who murdered his way to victory. It was a bitter thought, so unlike the sweet Tevinter wine she brought to her soft lips as she enjoyed her dinner and continued to let her thoughts fester, that in the end Ferelden had actually gotten a Prince to be the hero, but it wasn't the Prince that people had been waiting for.
Her thoughts were taken away from the two Wardens who took her throne though when she noticed that someone had approached her cell. It was an Elf oddly enough who had shown up and greeted the guard stationed just outside her iron bars in case anything happened, and Anora arched her eyebrow curiously and craned her elegant neck to get a better view of who her visitor was. From the distance she was at, he looked familiar even if she didn't know exactly from where, and the only thing that she could gather was the fact that the Elf had just handed her guard some sort of parchment to read.
"But this isn't King Alistair's seal," the guard tried to argue with the Elf while Anora scoffed and rolled her eyes at the way that the man had referred to Alistair.
"No," she heard the Elf challenge defiantly with an air of authority that was so unlike his kind, "but it is the seal of the Commander of the Grey."
Her eyebrow remained arched when she saw how the guard shifted uncomfortably while he debated something in his head. It took about a minute before the guard sighed and handed the parchment back to the Elf before he used one of the keys latched onto the chain resting on his hip to open her cell door.
"Farewell, your majesty." the guard said as he gave her a deep bow of reverence before turning and walking away from her cell and down the hall, steps echoing until she could no longer hear his heavy footsteps.
The Elf's eyes had followed her lead in watching her guard as he left, and it wasn't until then that he looked back at her. He was beautiful really, as most Elves were, with his hair that was a combination of silver and blonde and with tattoos adorning his darkened skin, and it was those tattoos in particular that reminded Anora that she had indeed seen him before just as she had originally thought. "Aren't you the Elf who traveled with the Warden?"
"Yes," the Elf replied with a politeness she wouldn't have expected the moment she realized what was about to happen when she saw him unsheathe a blade that he had been hiding on his person, "and he sends his regards."
So yeah, that's totally what I imagine going down.
Anyways, something I've always wanted to do was a full length Origin story about a ruthless Dwarf Noble Warden, with healthy dashes of AU to keep it interesting of course, but I find that since I don't have the time for it considering all my other stories, this is enough for now.